“He insists on impossible things from himself,” Mrs. Saint continued, “but then he lets others . . .” She frowned, sighed, and said nothing more.
They were silent for a few moments, Mrs. Saint lost in thought and caressing her wedding band, Markie regarding the old woman with a curiosity she tried, and failed, to extinguish.
“Anyway,” Mrs. Saint said, “because I cannot help them like before, and he never could do it all himself, I have been hoping someone else would come along someday to take up the job.”
She considered Markie for such a long time, and with such intensity, that Markie felt her head reflexively shaking no before she even heard what Mrs. Saint said next: “This is why I was so happy to hear that a young woman was moving in beside. Someone with a working-at-home job, especially, who would be around always. Someone with more energy than I have.”
Still moving her head from side to side, Markie pressed herself against her seat back, as though by creating a greater distance between them she could guard herself from the outrageous request her neighbor was hinting at. She couldn’t believe this woman! Not only had she obviously extracted Markie’s age and employment information from the bungalow’s leasing agent, but she had made the unilateral decision—before Markie even arrived on the scene!—that the new tenant should be the one to take over as employment counselor for her apparently unemployable staff!
Markie eyed the Frenchwoman and wondered what other information she had squeezed out of the agent. The number of personal questions on the housing application had been so alarming that had she not been so desperate to get Jesse and herself out from under the thumbs and judgmental glances of Clayton and Lydia, she would never have filled out a single line. Even with her urgency to find a place, she’d had second thoughts after hitting “Send” on the online application. Did she really want to deal with such an overreaching leasing agent?
Plus, the place was more than she could afford and required a full-year commitment. She had been offered the Global Insurance job only that morning—she couldn’t be certain it would work out for an entire year, and even if she could be sure, a hefty rent payment was a big risk for someone who was paid piece rate instead of a guaranteed monthly wage. She listed her concerns in the “Notes” section of the rental application and reminded herself that things happen for a reason: if they rejected her because of her financial instability, it wasn’t meant to be.
Within an hour, she heard back: they were willing to reduce the monthly rent by 10 percent, waive the security deposit, and shorten the lease term to six months with an option to extend. If those new terms appealed to her, all she had to do was send a check for the first month’s rent, and the place was hers. Having recently been hoodwinked on the financial front, Markie was suspicious. “That’s very generous,” she wrote back, “but would you mind telling me why you’re so willing to cut such a deal?” The place had been vacant for some time, the agent replied, and the landlord was eager to fill it. Satisfied, Markie put a check in her parents’ mailbox that night.
“I’m afraid I’m not the help you were expecting,” Markie said, her voice firm, her position nonnegotiable. She indicated the stack of files beside her chair. “I have so much work. And . . .”
“And a boy,” Mrs. Saint said.
Markie couldn’t tell if the older woman was being understanding or if she was pointing out that with only one child, Markie had plenty of time to serve as the new outplacement coordinator. “And like I said, we’re moving soon, so there wouldn’t be time anyway.”
“It is only that I worry,” Mrs. Saint said. “What would they do if anything happened to me?”
She steepled her fingers, and as she bent her head to study her hands, Markie considered how endearing it was for Mrs. Saint to care so much. The woman might be nettlesome, but she was also selfless.
“I’m sure you worry,” Markie said. She wasn’t getting involved, but she wasn’t without compassion. “Maybe there’s a community organization that could help. Some kind of job-skills training center or something.”
“Yes.” Mrs. Saint looked up. “This is a good idea. I will look into.”
“Good,” Markie said. “I hope you find something.” Eager to move the conversation away from the subject of her own involvement with Mrs. Saint’s employees, she said, “So you’ve been doing this for a long time, it sounds like. Hiring people to work around your house, coaching them, helping them get jobs?”
“My Edouard has provided me with more money than I need. And we have all learned, have we not, that we are to help our neighbor? This is a way I could help.”
“So it’s a religious calling?” Markie asked. Confusion registered on the older woman’s face, so Markie explained. “‘We are all to help our neighbor,’ you said. I thought maybe it was some sort of instruction from the Bible or something. And I guess I assumed you were Catholic, since you’re from Quebec. I’m sorry if that was—”
“Mais oui,” Mrs. Saint said. “Catholic. Of course. But this is not something I have learned from a Bible anyway. Only something I have learned from life.”
“Well, it’s a lovely idea, helping a neighbor,” Markie said. “And I’m sure there are plenty of people like you who do it for reasons other than religion. It’s a way of giving back, isn’t it? And that can be especially appealing to someone who received a great deal of help themselves once—”
“Of course not!” Mrs. Saint dropped her hands and pressed so firmly on the arms of her chair that it seemed she was about to stand and leave. She didn’t move, though, and after a moment she composed herself. “Of course not,” she repeated, this time more quietly.
Markie considered pointing out that she only meant her statement to be generic—she wasn’t suggesting this was the case for Mrs. Saint specifically. Given the violent reaction, though, it felt like the wiser choice to leave it alone, so instead she said, “Well, it’s extremely thoughtful of you. Lots of people have plenty of money, but they don’t use it on anyone but themselves.”
Mrs. Saint swatted the compliment away and turned from Markie, pretending to examine the shrubs bordering the patio, while Markie added “humble” to the list of positive attributes she was starting to appreciate in the older woman. She would still prefer to avoid Mrs. Saint for the remainder of her time in the bungalow, but there was no denying the fact that the woman was doing a great amount of good in the world. More than Markie ever had.